


Astronomy In Reverse

by pansexualorgana (MaximumMarygold)



Series: Into Focus [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Edward Elric, M/M, Mesh of 03 and Brotherhood, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Edward Elric, Prequel, im literally writing a prequel for my own ongoing fic rather than working on it, sketchy science, you don't have to read that to understand this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumMarygold/pseuds/pansexualorgana
Summary: When Lewis Carroll had talked about falling down the rabbit hole, he sure as fuck didn’t mention how much the landing could hurt if there wasn’t a magic buffer on the end to catch your dumb ass.(A Feed The Flame prequel)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: Into Focus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867465
Comments: 8
Kudos: 150





	1. I tried to write it down but I could never find a pen

**Author's Note:**

> im procrastinating so hard on feed the flame i started writing the PREQUEL this is low even for me

When Lewis Carroll had talked about falling down the rabbit hole, he sure as fuck didn’t mention how much the landing could hurt if there wasn’t a magic buffer on the end to catch your dumb ass.

But, shit, if they hurt then they were definitely alive, right? And when they rolled over onto their back with the groan of eleven ninety year old’s, Edward Elric caught sight of a familiar, long missed skyline in the corner of their eye and they grinned, lolling their head to the side so they could watch Al try to catch his breath.

“Hey, kid,” they rasped, smile only widening when their brother turned sharply to look at them with big eyes, “we made it.”

_ Home. _

Central air had never smelled so good; the city had never sounded so alive; the storm drains had never been so incredibly clogged with confetti.

That last bit shot Ed’s eyebrows up to their hairline when Al pointed it out with a quizzical look but their grin never faded. 

Someone swore on the other side of the street; a shop owner with a stubborn awning that didn’t want to stay upright.

“Here,” Ed offered, looking both ways before jogging over, ignoring Al’s exasperated huff of their name, and smiling, smiling, smiling, unable to stop smiling, “let me help you with that.”

They’d made a deal with Truth, on the Promised Day. Truth wanted Ed’s Gate in return for Al’s body; a trade that Ed made more than willingly. 

Because that’s what The Truth  _ was _ , they thought, at least for them. With alchemy in hand, Ed was closer to God than any one person had any right to be. That’s what the right answer was -- they could live without it, they didn’t need it. 

As long as they had Al and Winry, Izumi and Sig, their Team, all of the friends they met along the way, places to explore, and things to learn -- what else could they ask for? 

In retrospect, they could have asked for batshit crazy alchemists who weren’t a tenth as smart as they thought they were to  _ not  _ try fucking around with space and time. That would have been a pretty solid eyelash wish. 

Because one wrong step into a poorly crafted circle catapulted them into an alternate universe where things were almost the same but. Not. Where physics ruled, alchemy was a pipe dream, and the world was at war. Where people were trying to build a portal, not to travel, not to learn, but to  _ colonize _ .

One failed invasion and another three years stuck across the gate later, this time with Al in tow because nothing could keep the Elric siblings apart, not even the laws of the universe, Ed was finally home. 

“Thank you,” the woman said, her eyes crinkling with her smile as Ed grabbed hold of the metal leg; the screws were loose and the hinges were rusted. If Ed could just prop it up…

“Hey, Al,” they called, looking over their shoulder; Al was already there, long suffering and still the most beautiful thing Ed had ever seen, “hold this.”

And then they were clapping; an instinct they’d never quite been able to rid themself of, even living in a world without alchemy, even living in  _ this  _ world without alchemy, cut off from the Gate. They were already bracing themself of the lurch of disappointment in the pit of their stomach when the familiar, long missed surge of power lit them up from the inside out.

Blue sparks cast shadows upon the astonished expression on Ed’s face as the awning fit itself back into place like nothing had ever been amiss in the first place.

Heart in their throat, beating so fast they could taste their own pulse, Ed whirled around the second the light faded. 

Al was surprised, shocked to speechlessness, but still beautifully, blessedly there, whole, intact, not a single honey hair out of place. And Ed. Ed had used alchemy.

The woman was thanking them, offering them some sort of sweet pastry for their services, but for what was probably the first time in their life, Ed wasn’t thinking about food.

That wasn’t  _ right _ , it couldn’t be. They’d given up their gate fair and square; equivalent exchange for Al, hale and whole, body and soul, all ten fingers and ten toes, every single freckle and mole accounted for. 

It was a fluke. It had to be a fluke.

Without a word Ed dropped into as fluid a crouch as they could manage on the other world’s  _ joke  _ of a prosthetic and tried again, breath held in lungs that seemed to have shriveled up into husks in a handful of seconds it took them to clap a second time, a simple array in mind. 

Child’s play, really. 

That way if it didn’t work, they wouldn’t be embarrassed. 

And if it did they wouldn’t be sued for property damage without the luxury of an expense report to make it someone else’s problem.

When the light faded and a small, stone cat lay curled in Ed’s palm, the world seemed to fade; the sounds of the city muted, like they were underwater -- and really, that would explain the complete inability to  _ breathe.  _ Perhaps the portal they’d made had been a little faulty and dropped them into a lake, and they hit their head on the way down, and everything had been a really elaborate fever dream as they slowly drowned…

“Edward,” Al dropped down next to them, and no, they couldn’t be dead because if they were then -- warm fingers wrapped around their flesh wrist, “was that…?”

“Yeah, Al,” Ed managed to rasp, and their throat felt like it was made of gravel and broken glass, “alchemy.”

“But… that shouldn't be  _ possible _ !” 

And Al wasn’t wrong. It shouldn’t have been possible. Edward Elric could not perform alchemy. They’d given it up, they’d traded it, and while they missed it like a limb (ha) some days they never fucking regretted it. Not for one single  _ second _ had they considered they’d made the wrong choice.

They’d give up their arm, their alchemy, the ability to  _ breathe  _ for their little brother. 

The world tilted sharply to the side.

Or maybe that was just Ed. 

Panic, they had learned, could appear on command, pulling at their strings like a puppet and digging claws into their sternum until everything got a little blurry and their breath started coming in sharp, half aborted gasps that jostled every cell in their body until they were shaking, shaking, shaking apart at seams that were only loosely, haphazardly stitched in the first place. 

“No,” they whispered, dropping the cat, watching it crack and split and break, “take it  _ back _ ,” their fingers clawed ineffectually at the stone below them, “ _ take it back! _ ” 

If they could perform alchemy it would only be a matter of time before Truth intervened and took back what had been traded. Nothing came for free. There was always a price to pay. And Ed couldn’t afford the debt. 

Through five litres of blood pumping in their ears, they heard someone call for help. The familiar stomp of military grade boots. A flash of blue in the corner of their eye. 

The scent of cigarette smoke.

“Holy shit,” a man breathed, and Ed knew him, Ed knew. Ed knew. Ed -- “It’s the boss! Fuery, get your ass over here and help me!” 

Another pair of boots.

Someone grabbed their arms and lifted. Ed’s feet shifted clumsily under them, trying to arrange into something that could hold their weight; trying not to fuck up the plastic prosthetic on their left, trying to force their body into some kind of working order.

“Holy shit,” the same man said as Ed lost their silent battle to stay upright and pitched forward, strong arms wrapped around their shoulders and their world narrowed to cerulean wool and smoke.  _ Havoc _ . It was Havoc.

“Al,” they croaked, lifting their head, craning for a glimpse of their brother; they couldn’t let him out of their sight, now. Not until they knew what Truth was going to do. “ _ Al _ !” 

“I’m right here,  _ famille _ ,” Al’s fingers tangled with those of Ed’s flesh hand, “can you walk? Or is Lieutenant Havoc going to have to carry you all the way to the Fuhrer’s office?”

“It’s Lieutenant  _ Colonel  _ now, Alphonse,” Havoc corrected and Ed could hear the grin in his voice without looking and it was so. So  _ good _ . And if they let the unyielding, uncoordinated plastic of their prosthetic arm wrap just a little tighter around Havoc’s chest, well, who the fuck was he gonna tell?

“Congratulations,” said Al, duly impressed, always polite, “you deserve it.”

“For all that I’m a glorified chauffeur,” Havoc joked,  _ joked _ , and Ed finally found their footing just so they could peer at his face, wrinkling their nose at his terrible choice in facial hair, but fuck it was just so good to see  _ him _ .

There were people, in the other world, like Dopplegangers of people from home. Ed had met some of them, even. Teacher had three kids and taught in an elementary school; Miles owned a bakery; Roy… Roy _ al _ (and how fucking. How fucking dare he combine his name with Al’s. how dare that universe try to combine the two brightest stars they knew into one entity) grew his hair long and had to tuck it behind his ear before he would bend to kiss them.

But, they’d never come across Havoc. 

Or Hughes.

Oh, God, Hughes.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes -- is he…?” He’d been in a coma, the last Ed and Al had heard, still and silent, the machinery next to him that kept track of his vitals beeping steadily on, and on, and on, never pausing, never changing speeds.

For just a moment, Havoc’s own arms tightened around Ed and they feared the worst, then he chuckled, low and throaty and calmingly familiar, “He woke up about a year ago,” he said and Ed’s frantic pulse slowed just a smidge, “pissed as hell that you two went off galavanting in the multiverse without him. You know the man’s a  _ huge  _ nerd.”

“I’ll have to write him up a full report,” Ed responded dryly, finally, finally, finally pushing back to stand on their own two feet. Well. Their own foot and a half, “First, I need to find a phone, though. Al, you remember Winry’s number right?” Because if she found out through the grapevine that they’d somehow managed to make the laws of physics their bitch  _ again _ , she was going to make them wish they’d stayed over there in the Other place.

“Funny, that,” Fuery, who looked exactly how Ed remembered him, right down to the deceivingly innocent expression exacerbated by his cherubic cheeks, “there’s a phone in the Fuhrer’s office. Which is where we were headed anyways, right Jean?”

“Oh, absolutely,” and Havoc’s hand clamped right back onto Ed’s shoulder, steering them as much as he was making sure they weren’t about to topple over again, “sorry about all the drama, Mrs. Ankleson. I’ll buy extra dessert on Tuesday to make up for it, okay?”

The old woman who’s awning Ed had fixed, who had since ceased to exist in their mind because she wasn’t alchemy, truth, or Al, waved them off with a roll of her eyes and a stern order for Ed to “feel better, now, dear!”. 

“Why are we going to the Fuhrer’s office?” Al asked, though he made no motion to actually stop them  _ from  _ going, still too excited, still taking too deep breaths to catch the scents from all the restaurants, still turning every which way with too wide eyes, unwilling to miss a single detail of the world they fought so hard to return to, “I thought you’d be taking us to see the Colonel? Or is he back in Brigg’s again?” Al’s lips turned down into a concerned scowl.

Fuery broke into a sudden coughing fit that would have hidden his laughter from just about anyone else, but Ed had known the man since they were twelve years old, they damn well knew better.

They also knew better than to call him on it; they would just be on guard. Not that they thought, in any universe, that Fuery or Havoc would try to hurt them. It was just always better to be prepared for the worst and surprised by the best.

There was music, wafting lightly from storefronts, and Al closed his eyes, “What do you think Debussy is doing over here,  _ famille? _ ” He asked, quietly, musing to himself, “Maybe he’s a painter. Or a writer.”

“Or a candlestick maker,” Ed added, rolling their eyes and ignoring the stares they received from various military personnel; some of them looked like they’d seen a ghost, others were vaguely curious, but thankfully everyone seemed to busy to stop and gawk for long or, worse, try to  _ talk _ . “Who cares, as long as Chopin still makes music I don’t care about the rest of them.”

“Two words, Ed: Bing Crosby.” 

Ed flushed to the tips of their ears, “Don’t think I don’t know about your crush on Cary Grant,  _ Alphonse _ .” 

“And that’s enough of this conversation!” Al said quickly, shrinking back from Havoc’s curious eyebrow, “He was a very distinguished gentleman, Jean.” He said with a sniff.

“Oh and Crosby was totally a schmuck from under a bridge,” Ed shot back, “leave me to my sad, sad pining. I bet in this world he’s just like some random guy living in fucking  _ Drachma  _ or something. Maybe outside the wards, even. Terrible.”

“You know who doesn’t live in Drachma or something…” Al started slyly, ducking out of the way of Ed’s prosthetic before it could attempt to dislocate his shoulder, “We have  _ got  _ to get you to Winry. At least with automail your hits are more finessed than  _ smack it with a club _ .”

Ed grinned; it was all teeth, “Just wait until I can flip you off with  _ both  _ hands again. Ugh, I can’t wait. It would be a lot sooner if someone had just let us use that lady’s phone instead of dragging us on a goddamn tour of headquarters --”

The door to Ed’s immediate left was flung open with so much force the fact that it stayed on its hinges was a minor miracle. 

The sight of Vato Falman and Heymans Breda nearly falling over the other trying to be the first out into the hall was another.

“It  _ is _ ,” Falman breathed, looking as surprised as Ed had ever seen him.

“Ed,” Breda said, alarmingly close to tears, “Al.”

Al was the first to recover, smiling brilliant and beautiful at the pair of them, “Hello, Falman! Breda! It’s great to see you both!”

“We were just taking a stroll down Main and happened upon some commotion where some blonde second grader was having a minor breakdown in the middle of--”

Unlike Al, who had years and years of practice dealing with Ed and all of their bullshit, Havoc hadn’t had to dodge one of Ed’s punches in nearly half a decade. 

“Don’t call me small,” Ed hissed over the wheezing of their friend; still doubled over and clutching at his stomach, Havoc gave a shaky thumbs up. 

“Gentlemen!” And fuck, it had to be the years of conditioning because Ed and Al snapped to attention right along with the other four -- then again, no one was brave enough to test weather or not Hawkeye  _ would  _ actually shoot them on the clock so it may have been less conditioning and more the tiny, nearly nonexistent sliver of self preservation that had managed to keep Ed more or less in… well, not in one piece, but  _ alive _ all of these years. “What are we doing crowded by the--” 

And Ed. Ed didn’t think they’d ever seen Riza Hawkeye speechless before, even sat at her kitchen table listening to her talk about Ishval, she had never looked quite so shaken. 

“Hi,” they said, because they were an idiot, “you cut your hair,” they said, because she had and it looked nice. It framed her face well and made her look, not softer, but. Something. Ed liked it.

“You’re alive,” she said back, looking between the two of them, her eyes suspiciously shiny under the fluorescent lights, “oh my God, you’re alive.” And then she was hugging them.

In full uniform, in broad daylight, Riza Hawkeye pulled both Elric’s into her arms with, as far as they could tell, no intention of ever letting them go again. 

“We were so. So worried about you.” She said, and her voice was a little strangled, a little wet, and Ed was absolutely not about to point that out to her. “We thought --”

“We thought we’d never see you again,” Al interrupted, and he was definitely crying, large, heavy tears that dripped from his cheeks and stained the wool of Hawkeye’s uniform an even darker blue, “we were so scared.” 

Hawkeye squeezed them even tighter, held them for a few breaths longer, before pulling away and blinking rather quickly, her lashes gleaming wet and her eyes ringed pink, but otherwise unruffled, “Come,” she said, “the Fuhrer will want--”

“Why is Grumman so damn impatient to see us?” Ed demanded, all but throwing their hands into the air in frustration; sure he was the leader of Amestris but for fucks sake, he was honestly pretty low on their pecking order of people who Ed wanted to see right now.

“Why does Grumman…?” Hawkeye shook her head with a wry smile and ushered them into the room, “You two have missed out on quite a lot.”

“No kidding,” Ed grumbled, “apparently all of the razors in the country got stolen. Because that’s the only reason I can think of for Havoc’s fuckin’ goatee.” 

Behind them, Havoc made a wounded noise, “Boss!”

“That makes seventeen unsolicited ‘shave it offs’,” Falman commented idly, “three more and it’s gotta go.”

“Make it eighteen,” Al said, wincing in sympathy when Havoc turned his betrayed gaze to the younger Elric, “sorry, Jean. It’s. Well. It’s not good.”

Breda laughed, loud and boisterous, clearly delighted, clapping Havoc heartily on the back, “Tough crowd,” he said.

Hawkeye endured the whole affair with only a good natured roll of her eyes, stepping up to the heavy wooden doors that lead to the Fuhrer’s office and wrapping her knuckles against it twice, “Sir, you have a visitor.”

The moments just before the door swung open were tense in a way Ed didn’t understand, like everyone was waiting for something, the suspension of waiting for Jack In The Box to pop, or the moment between songs on a record. 

Heavy and expectant. 

It made Ed want to run.

“I don’t have time for any more pompous brass assed donkeys trying to pretend that they--” Roy Mustang, Ed was distressed to note, looked even better than they remembered. Even gaping like a codfish halfway through insulting top ranking military officials because apparently he could  _ do  _ that now because apparently he was the  _ Fuhrer _ \--

“Edward,” he breathed, eyes raking down Ed’s… everything… greedily, like he was scared they were going to disappear and he only had scant seconds to memorize everything about them. He turned to Al, his staring not quite so thorough but still nothing short of astounded, “Alphonse.”

“Hello, Colonel -- er, I mean. Fuhrer.” Al was  _ beaming _ , practically radiating condensed sunshine in his happiness, “I suppose congratulations are in order all around, everyone seems to have been promoted.”

Mustang laughed, a little helplessly, “It seems they have. Thank you, Alphonse.”

“When was the election?” Ed asked, because there were boxes behind Mustang’s back, still unpacked, and he had blinked when Al called him the Fuhrer, like he still wasn’t sure it was all real. 

“Three days ago,” Mustang answered, raising an eyebrow, “sorry that you missed your chance to publicly eviscerate me?”

Three days; that explained the confetti.

“We would never!” Al gasped, scandalized.

Smirk playing at their lips, Ed shook their head, “Nah,” they said, “I think I would have voted for you, even if you are a good for nothing Bastard. Who were you running against?”

Nose wrinkling, Mustang answered, “Hakuro.”

“Definitely would have voted for you,” Ed declared, nodding once and reaching back to drag their ponytail over their shoulder so they could fiddle with the strands -- it was getting long, they should cut it. “There would have been mocking, make no mistake. But not publicly. I’d find you babies to kiss and photographers to just so casually catch you in the act of kissing said babies.” Stop talking, holy shit, Ed, stop talking. 

Surprise was certainly a good look on the bastard, even as his mouth curled in a pleased smile, “That is. Very nice, Edward. Thank you. I appreciate your endorsement; late as it may be.” He paused, “Then again, you’ve never been on time for anything in your life, I don’t know why I expected this to be any different.”

Ed barked out a sharp laugh, “Like you expected us to ever show back up.”

And for once, Mustang looked absolutely, completely, earnestly serious, “I always believed you would back, Ed. I didn’t know when, but it was never a matter of ‘if’ for me. I knew you’d find a way back to m-- to us.” 

Oh, god. Oh, shit.

Oh,  _ fuck _ .

“I.” fuck. “I can do alchemy!” They blurted, eyes going wide because that’s not what they’d meant to say at all -- they’d meant to frown and demand to know why the hell Mustang was so sure, what made him believe so hard in some dumb, scrappy kids he’d met under the world’s worst circumstances, “I did it accidentally, on instinct, to fix some lady’s awning. And then I tried it again to make sure and I… I can do it.”

They didn’t have to say the punchline for Mustang to get the joke -- he’d been there, even if he couldn’t see it happen, when Ed had given up his gate for Al. The implications were clear -- if Ed’s alchemy was back, would Al be taken again? And if Truth  _ was  _ going to take him, why were they waiting?

“You want to open the gate,” Mustang said.

“I have to,” Ed clenched their teeth until their jaw hurt, “I have to give it back. I can’t risk them taking Al again. They can’t have him.”

“  _ Famille _ ,” Al whispered, hand landing on Ed’s flesh shoulder, “Ed, if Truth was going to take me, why wouldn’t they have done it already?”

“I don’t know and I’m not going to sit around to find out,” Ed squared their shoulders and jutted out their jaw, staring down Mustang until they could pick out the blue in his eyes where before they’d thought they were just black, “So, I am asking for official permission from the Fuhrer of Amestris… to perform human transmutation.”

The silence that reigned was different than the one from before Mustang had entered, stage center. This silence was frigid and brittle. The seconds between the flash of lighting and the crash of thunder. That moment, when you were drowning, when everything just  _ stopped _ hurting.

Mustang looked like he’d just been asked to explode his own eyeballs, pale and drawn, scowling at the area over Ed’s right shoulder, unable to meet their eye, “Permission granted, Fullmetal.” He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a gleaming, silver pocketwatch; after a moment’s consideration, he held it out to Ed, “You’ll be needing this, I suppose.”

Ed reached out with tentative fingers, brushing just the very tips over the metal, still warm from where it had soaked up the heat from Mustang’s body. Twisting his hand until the watch was hanging by the chain and his fingers could catch Ed’s, Mustang pulled them in, eyebrows raised in consideration.

“On one condition,” he said, and Ed’s scowl deepened, “you let me help.”


	2. things my heart used to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its like half the fuckin length of the first chapter but roy is sap sap sappy so

Despite what he’d said, Roy had almost given up on the idea of ever seeing Edward Elric again. He’d hoped. Fuck, had he hoped. He’d hoped and he’d prayed to Gods he didn’t even believe in.

They’d appeared once, briefly; a flashbomb of blonde hair and the clang of metal on metal. A wicked grin, a sloppy salute, a taunt thrown over an unfamiliarly broad shoulder was all it had taken to thaw the ice packed inside of his ventricles and light a fire under his ass.

And then, as quick as they’d arrived, they’d been gone again, taking Al with them.

The world seemed to dim a little, without the Elrics. But Roy wasn’t going to let that stop him; not again.

And then.

There they were, standing in his doorway, face slack in surprise and then bright in pleasure once the dots were connected.

Edward Elric, home where they belonged, brother in tow. They were older, of course, that should have been obvious; they’d been older the last time he’d seen them, but for some reason he’d still imagined them as seventeen, bright as a starburst talking him down in the tunnels under Central -- the last time he’d gotten a good look at them before Truth took his sight.

But Edward. 

Edward had grown up on him; had grown taller, and broader, more confident. Was  _ asking  _ for permission to perform a human transmutation on  _ themself  _ because they could do alchemy again and were visibly terrified of what that could mean for Al.

Roy was under no illusions that, were he to say no, Ed would actually  _ not  _ attempt to open the gate. They would just feel slightly bad about it. But Roy goddamn knew better than to try and come between Ed and their brother’s wellbeing; that was just asking for an automail limb to all of his sensitive bits.

And additionally, he found that he had no desire to. If Roy had thought reopening his gate and meeting Truth for a second time would get him anywhere close to answers regarding Ed, he would have done it in a second.

Which is why he’d handed over his own watch. Why he’d staunchly refused to let Ed go at it alone. Why he’d enlisted his team to help him push all of the furniture in his office against the far wall while Ed and Al wrangled Miss. Rockbell over the phone (because had he let Edward try something so catastrophically stupid before making them contact her first, he would be on the receiving end of a terrifyingly large wrench to all of his sensitive bits. And on that note; he really liked his sensitive bits and he really wished people would stop attacking them so callously.) Why he’d met molten gold eyes from across the massive circle that had been fastidiously chalked into his carpet, held them for just a second, just a  _ moment  _ too long, and clapped.

Truth’s domain was exactly how Roy remembered it in his nightmares; a blank, white void, his gate behind him, doors firmly shut. The difference was this time, there was another gate on the other end.

Ed looked like they belonged there, fiery and ethereal, with all of the universe’s knowledge at their mismatched fingertips. They met Roy’s eye, much the way he’d met theirs over the circle, and nodded once, decisive, appreciative, a little disbelieving.

“You alright, bastard?” They asked and the answer was a very resounding  _ no _ , not that he’d ever tell them that. Ed, it seemed, already knew, “You didn’t have to tag along, you know?”

Roy had to work very hard to summon a ghost of his usual smirk but in the end he managed, “I couldn’t let you go without a babysitter,” he said, “your track record of coming back is, shall we say, lacking.”

Maybe if he managed to ignore the figure that sat casually between them long enough, his bruised and abused heart would retreat from his throat and settle back down behind his ribs where it belonged. Maybe his lungs would remember their basic function.

Maybe.

But probably not.

He was scared for Ed; terrified, even. They only had one question for Truth, one deceptively simple question. But who knew what the toll for that question would be? He couldn’t even begin to guess.

What he did know, however, was that he would jump in and pay it. Whatever it was. His sight, his limbs, his heart. He’d give up whatever he had to keep the Elrics safe -- to keep  _ Ed  _ safe.

And he was. Not going to think too hard about that or the possible reasons why or about anything at all related to how he may or may not feel for his former subordinate who was  _ fourteen  _ years younger than him.

“Well, well, well,” Truth finally spoke and Roy failed spectacularly in his attempt to not flinch away from the sound, “this is a surprise.”

“You’re telling me,” Ed sounded calm; so, so calm. Roy didn’t know how they did it; but then again, Ed had paid Truth more visits than any other person in history, “I wasn’t aware you were in the habit of giving things back for free.”

“I’m not,” and Truth looked offended by the mere thought, as much as a featureless being could  _ look  _ anything, “I didn’t give --”

“I traded you my Gate for my brother,” Ed, fearless, beautiful, brazen, interrupted God, “and I have no intention of doing the opposite. Not now, not ever. My guess is that when we crossed back over from the Other World, the one without alchemy, some wires got crossed.” 

Truth hummed thoughtfully, shifting onto their feet in one fluid movement, if they were put out by Ed cutting them off, they hid it well, “That world is outside of my jurisdiction,” they admitted and Roy and Ed shared a look over the being’s shoulder, “You surely noticed some familiar faces while you were there.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Ed said, and this time they did  _ not  _ look at him, which made Roy wonder what exactly Truth meant by that. Familiar faces? As in them? As in Maes’ insane theory of multiverses where there are infinite incarnations of everyone and everything, just tweaked in some way to differentiate, “I suppose you’re going to tell me that there is another  _ you?” _

Truth smiled, “Yes,” they parroted, mimicking Ed’s voice for no other apparent reason than to be  _ incredibly _ unsettling, “and it would appear that  _ they  _ deemed you worthy.”

“I don’t need alchemy,” Ed answered quickly, so quickly it almost seemed like a reflex, and there was a flash of something feral and desperate in the set of their jaw and the glint in their gilded eyes, “I have two perfectly good legs, I can walk on my own.”

“That,” Truth said, pointing one finger in Ed’s direction, “is why they deemed you worthy.” Their smile turned toothy and too sharp, “The same reasons I  _ took  _ your alchemy seems to be the same things that earned it back. Lucky you.” They paused, “I can take it back, if you really don’t want it. But there is no toll to pay,” they shrugged, “I don’t require payment for something I have not given.” 

“No?” Ed’s eyebrows scrunched together and Roy agreed with the assessment; this felt like a trap, “You’re not coming after Al?”

“Your brother is safe,” they turned to look over their shoulder, bestowing Roy with their most unnerving smile; Roy’s blood turned to ice, “as is your Fuhrer. But if I see either of you again--” 

“I have no plans of bringing my attempts at human alchemy into the double digits,” Ed assured, “Roy didn’t even want to do it the first time.”

" _ Roy, _ " Truth purred, like they were tasting the name -- he watched as Ed repressed a shiver, "I remember you," when they looked at him, Truth had  _ eyes _ . The same eyes that Roy saw every time he looked in the mirror -- slightly slanted, almond shaped, so deeply blue they looked black until the sun hit them just right, “You’re  _ looking  _ well.”

Roy's expression was grim, neither of them had missed the meaning, "I had an exceptional doctor."

“I bet you did,” they turned back to Ed, tapping tanned, flesh fingers -- _ Ed’s fingers--  _ against their cheek, “don’t look so constipated, Edward, I keep my promises. However you two regained what you lost, it wasn’t through me.” They waved that same hand and Roy watched Ed’s gate open, felt the rush of air behind him, the ghostly, dark hands clawing at his skin, “Now, get out.”

Roy landed hard on his office floor; Ed landed even harder on top of him; a tangle of limbs and blonde hair and copious amounts of loud swearing. 

“Ed!” 

The scrape of Riza’s boot sliding through the drawn circle is what made Roy finally squint his eyes open. It felt like someone had thrown his brain into a blender on high and replaced his vocal chords with cotton balls. 

The light hurt, but Riza’s concerned upside down face peering down at him made him smile a little crookedly and croak out, “Hello, beautiful.”

“Oh, no,” Riza drawled, “it appears the Fuhrer has sustained damage to his brain.”

A damp gust of air across his collarbone hailed Ed’s breathless laughter; they hadn’t lifted their head from where it had dropped onto Roy’s shoulder; “Had that one coming, bastard,” they said, finally pushing themselves up with a groan, sitting back on their heels, “what with your thirty-seven girlfriends or whathaveyou.”

Roy and Riza snorted in tandem as the latter helped shove her superior into something that almost resembled a sitting position, “That’s quite an exaggeration.” 

Al’s face was pinched in mirth; he knew exactly who Roy’s ‘girlfriends’ were. When Ed disappeared the first time, Roy had introduced the younger Elric to his mother in the interest of giving Al a larger intelligence network in his quest to find Ed.

“How is Vanessa, anyhow?” Al asked, easing into a steely façade of indifference as Ed whirled to face him so quickly the edge of their ponytail brushed past Roy’s nose. 

“Just lovely,” Roy answered cordially, “she’ll be thrilled to see you. She and Amanda got married last year.”

Eyes that were slightly more hazel green than gold lit up in excitement, “Oh!” 

“I feel like I missed a joke,” Ed grumbled, finally stumbling to their feet and stretching their arms above their head; their pale cream shirt had come untucked at some point and rose with the motion, revealing a thin strip of tantalizing golden skin. 

“Roy doesn’t so much have girlfriends as he has an extensive collection of spies by way of his mother’s business,” Riza answered, moving to settle against the front of Roy’s desk, hands behind her back to support her weight, “she runs a bar and brothel downtown.”

Eyebrows scrunched together as they did the math, Ed’s face slowly reddened, “Escorts?”they squeaked, “All those girls you call are  _ escorts _ ?”

“The best in Central,” Roy confirmed, “turns out, people tend to be a little more loose lipped when they’re… otherwise engaged. They’re how I got all of those photographs of Selim Bradley before the coup.”

“We should go for a visit, Ed,” Al said mildly, “I’m assuming I’m not in any immediate danger since you haven’t done anything stupid yet. A celebratory drink might do us all some good. You can mourn the loss of Bing Crosby’s affections while we’re there.”

Who the  _ fuck  _ was Bing Crosby? 

Roy’s stomach clenched in something that felt remarkably close to  _ jealousy _ , which couldn’t possibly be right since he absolutely, positively, did not hold any uncouth feelings towards Edward Elric.

“You’re never going to let me live this down,” Ed complained, and it appeared that while Roy was analyzing his (completely platonic) feelings, the decision to actually visit his mother had been made, “I’m sorry that the man has a voice like velvet, okay?”

“Did you have a boyfriend, Ed?” Breda asked, eyebrows going way, way up.

Al burst into instant hysterics while Ed looked like they’d just bitten into a whole lemon.

“ _ No _ ,” they said with feeling, before pausing, their cheeks reddening incredibly charmingly, “well yes. But not  _ Bing Crosby _ ! He was just a singer that I liked. And my brother is a fuckin’  _ gremlin _ . And it was nothing on his puppy crush on  _ Cary Grant _ .”

Al seemingly unperturbed by his sibling’s accusations, just shrugged, “Maybe not. But I’m not the one who’s so embarrassed that they look like a tomato, now am I?”

Ed’s screech of absolute outrage echoed throughout the office in a way Roy hadn’t realized had been missing until it returned. God, had his world always been so suffocatingly quiet? 

Sure, the team was never exactly  _ subdued  _ in their work efforts, and he’d had his fair share of excitement over the years, but that all seemed dim in comparison to the supernova currently waving their hands in wide, overarching circles to demonstrate a point that completely escaped Roy’s comprehension.

He wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to the things that were coming out of the elder Elric’s mouth. Rather, he was watching the way their eyebrows moved as their expression changed. How their eyes flashed under the office’s fluorescent lighting. The sugarspun wisps of golden hair that had come free from their tousled ponytail in all of the hubbub and instead fluttered around their face.

There was a watercolor flush of pink high on their cheekbones, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of their nose. Their lips were chapped and torn, like they’d been biting them in concentration. 

Roy wanted to kiss them better.

Roy wanted to trace that blush with his lips and count those freckles in the place of sheep as he fell asleep.

Roy wanted to smooth those aureate strands off of their face and seal them in place with a flurry of kisses, light as butterfly wings.

Roy wanted to open his eyes every morning to meet that startlingly expressive gilded gaze.

Roy wanted to smooth his thumb between their eyebrows until their expression smoothed and those chapped lips quirked into a smile. 

Roy was goddamn in love with Edward Elric and he hadn’t even realized it.

Pardon his Cretan, but Roy was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup bitches [it me](https://pansexualorgana.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> blah blah im pansexualorgana on everything and if you cant find me try maximummarygold


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